As I stepped onto the decking, I slipped backwards, banging my arse on the door frame and then fell forwards, flinging my arms out but banging my right elbow on the other side of the door frame and landed on my right knee, with my left leg stretched out behind me.
Eat your heart out Darcey Bussell, I could have shown you a move or two.
Saturday, I woke up feeling like shit, with a capital S.H.I.T. My mouth was as dry as Ghandi’s flip flop, my head hurt and I ached all over. I spent the whole day swearing I’d never drink again. Ever. Someone suggested I try a hairy dog. I do believe, and hope, they meant hair of the dog. Even so, I declined. The thought of anything alcoholic passing my lips made my head hurt even more and my stomach roll in protest, although quite frankly my mouth didn’t care.
After complaining on Facebook about my hangover, a friend commented in a tongue firmly in cheek way:
So, does being a grandmother-to-be mean I have to be all grown up and sensible all the time now? Pfft. Yeah, I can just see that happening.
If I grow up, I might end up doing this:
I’m sorry, but I don’t see myself in years to come anything like Peggy or Dotty, sitting in my cosy armchair listening to the click-clack of my
No, growing old gracefully is not for me, even if it does mean acquiring a few bruises along the way. In the future, I wonder if I’ll get done for being drunk in charge of a Zimmer frame? *snort*
Determined not be outdone by her mother, Saturday night was the turn of Youngest Daughter.
She rolled home during the early hours of Sunday morning totally wasted, laughing hysterically for no reason while walking along the road to the house, wanting to watch Jeremy Kyle (for non UK readers think Jerry Springer, except much less entertaining), unable to remove one of her shoes without help, counting out loud each piece of jewellery as she took it off, falling over sideways when trying to put her pyjama bottoms on, wanting to eat cold spaghetti bolognese, singing while on the loo, continuously saying sorry, plus saying sorry for saying sorry, cuddling one of the cats in a vice-like grip while laying on her bed and then passing out.
Highly entertaining.
* I would like to point out that alcohol should be drunk sensibly – from a glass is best. More classy than straight from the bottle.
** The slight derision expressed regarding the watching of Coronation Street was totally unintentional.
oh ! yes! hysterical.
ReplyDeleteRemember, act your shoe size, not your age!
ReplyDeleteAnd it would be excellent to see a story on thenews about a crazy old lazy arrested for being drunk in charge of a zimmer frame.
Wouldn't surprise me if it's already been done.
Growing old disgracefully is the way forward.
ReplyDeleteI know an old fella who has massive spotlights on the front of his mobility scooter as he has a tendency to fall down ditches in the dead of night on the way home from the pub - the spotlights have a twofold function: to hopefully light up ditches, and failing that, to act as a beacon guiding the search party to his position.
He is my hero!
I always feel like an alcoholic if I drink any alcohol out of an 'inappropriate' container. Like drinking wine out of a mug. I think drinking wine out of the bottle would feel less inappropriate to me than drinking it out of a mug does. Does that sound bad? Probably.
ReplyDelete